


Magic Fingers

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Series: (Less Than) Full Disclosure [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Pegging, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-12
Updated: 2007-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> Dean hears the door slam and grins, relaxing a little more and really letting himself get into it now that Sam's gone. He's got it down to an art at this point, and he can come without even touching himself, the vibration of the bed combined with fantasies enough to get him off.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Fingers

Dean hears the door slam and grins, relaxing a little more and really letting himself get into it now that Sam's gone. He's got it down to an art at this point, and he can come without even touching himself, the vibration of the bed combined with fantasies enough to get him off.

He debates for a second between the pretty redhead he had to turn down last week when they were hunting the ghost of a Civil War soldier in Poison Spring and the brunette twins he banged in Lincoln last month. It's really no contest, though, because the twins were calf-ropers on the rodeo circuit, and fuck but they had a way with knots.

Sliding his hands up above his head, he curls his fingers over the edge of the mattress and remembers the rough slide of rope against his wrists, the warm weight of two bodies, pressing him into the mattress. Sissy...or was it Chrissy? Hell, it doesn't matter; they were identical in every way he was able to tell, right down to their matching rose tattoos.

So say it's Chrissy, then, who kisses her way up his chest, biting at his nipples until he's writhing, his wrists tied to the headboard and his legs pinned where Sissy straddles his thighs, dragging her nails down his belly and hips in a way that's just this side of painful. He moans and Chrissy shushes him, pressing her fingers against his mouth and whispering in his ear all the things she's going to do if he can't be quiet. His moans just get louder at that, and she follows through with her threat, carefully shifting them both until she's straddling him and he can't see anything but creamy white skin and dark curls.

His nose is filled with the hot, musky smell of her pussy, but she's just out of reach of his tongue, and her fingers are tangled in his hair, holding him still so that he can't get any closer to her, either, can't even turn his head to lick and kiss at the smooth skin of her thighs. He knows what she wants, and he doesn't mind giving it to her, letting the pleas spill from his lips, begging for a taste of her. It's all part of the power play, a game he's equally comfortable on either side of.

She finally relents, spreading her thighs until she's pressing down on him, until he can finally bury his tongue deep inside her slickness, and then she lets go of his head, too, and his movement is still restricted but he's got just enough leeway to show her what he can do.

It takes longer than it should for him to get Chrissy off, longer than his pride is happy with, but he blames it on the distraction of Sissy's nails and tongue and teeth. She's still pinning his legs down, and he knows he could buck them both off if he needed to, but their weight is enough to keep his involuntary movements in check and he can let go a little more than he usually would, give up a little more control.

If her breathing is anything to go by, Chrissy's teetering on the edge of her second climax when the bed shifts under them and suddenly his dick is sliding into tight wet heat and his last threads of control snap. He arches his hips up, thrusting into Sissy, and is rewarded with a stinging slap on the thigh and a teasing reprimand. He stills, breathing in deep through his nose, letting Sissy set her own pace and focusing on gaining back the ground he lost with Chrissy. He's gratified when she tenses a second time, and he flicks his tongue across the nub of her clit as she shudders above him.

And this is the point in the fantasy/memory when he usually comes, but even though he's right there, he can't quite make it over the edge. He could slide a hand into his jeans—a couple of quick strokes and it'd be all over—but during the last few weeks this has gotten to be kind of a test of his control, and he's not about to give in when he's so close.

Instead, he rolls over, hands still gripping the edge of the mattress above his head, the vibrations tingling through him, and spreads his legs a little. It's time to bring out the big guns.

The long weekend with Amber is one of his hottest experiences of his life, which is why he uses it as a jerk-off fantasy so rarely. It's also why he's always looking for an excuse to go back to New Orleans.

He knows from the first moment he catches sight of her in the Bourbon Street bar that he wants her, and when she blatantly cruises him—with none of the usual giggling or faked shyness—he knows that he wants her _a lot_. A couple of drinks later and they're stumbling through her front door, coordination marred more by arousal than by alcohol, and she kisses like no one he's ever been with before: fierce and intense and take-no-prisoners.

She's tiny, barely coming up to his shoulder, but she's got this presence that just draws him in, makes him feel kind of crazy, even, and for a second he wonders if she's something other than what she seems. A muttered 'Christo' provokes no reaction, and then she's slipping out of her jeans and tugging her top off, and as she drops to her knees in front of him, he doesn't really care anymore.

The things she can do with her mouth are downright unbelievable, and he finally has to push her away to keep from coming before he wants to. She just grins up at him, lips slick and red and swollen. He ditches his tee-shirt, shoves his jeans and underwear the rest of the way off, and reaches for her. She moves into his arms, moaning when he lifts her up and then wrapping her legs around his waist as he slides home inside her, and fuck but it feels good. It's slow and deep, and he comes unexpectedly quickly, but Amber doesn't seem to mind. She's grinning at him again, this time with a wicked edge to her smile that makes him think of leather and handcuffs, so he's not surprised when she asks if he's ever had his ass fucked.

He hasn't, but he's willing to try anything once—sometimes twice or three times, just to be sure.

She slides a wooden box from under the bed, showing him each item as she pulls it out: a bottle of lube, a black leather strap-on harness, and two sleek glass dildos that fit into it. She fastens the shorter, thicker one into place on the inside of the harness and the longer, textured one to the outside. His mouth is dry and his breath hitches at the thought; he's equal parts turned on and terrified, but damned if he's going to let her see the latter. He grins back at her and follows her instructions, lying face down on the bed with two pillows under his hips, and having his ass up in the air like this feels perverse, dirty in all the best ways. His dick is already hard again, and he thrusts down into the too-soft give of the pillows as she traces cool, slick fingers across his asshole, setting off sparks in nerves he didn't even know existed.

When she slides the first finger into him, he groans and arches back a little, making her laugh. She leans up and over his back, whispering dirty promises into his skin as she presses another finger into him, fucking him slow and gentle. Turning her wrist, she rubs against something inside him and his body feels like it wants to melt and explode simultaneously. He shoves back against her hand and she takes the hint, working a third and then a fourth finger into him, and he hisses with the burn because it's too much, too fast, but it's so fucking good.

Then she pulls away, her fingers slipping from him, and he wants to keep her inside him, to tell her to keep going, keep stretching him and filling him and hitting the spot that's got him achingly hard. The cool, hard press of the glass dildo against him makes him tense for a second, and she waits as he takes a breath and forces his muscles to relax, then pushes into him slowly. He can feel each ridge as it slides into him, opening him up, and he tries to imagine what it would look like. He's surprised when he feels her hips press flush against his ass, the dildo buried in him to the hilt.

She starts off with long, slow thrusts, letting him feel every inch as it slides out and then back in, but it doesn't take long before that's not enough, before he's urging her faster, harder. She spreads her knees some, pushing his thighs wider apart, and then she's pounding into him and he's fucking back against her as best he can considering his serious lack of leverage. Her hand slides under his hip, fingers wrapping around his dick, and he comes with the dildo buried deep in his ass, the sound of Amber's climax echoing in his ears.

He's not sure when his last quarter ran out, but the bed is still except for the faint movement caused by the pounding of his heart. For a minute he doesn't move— _can't_ move, really—and then he drags himself up and to the bathroom, the slickness of his come inside his shorts turning unpleasant. By the time Sam shows back up, smiling and flushed from the cold, Dean's had a very hot shower and changed his clothes, and he feels like a new man.


End file.
